


His Sole

by facade



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Angst, Arsenal FC, Corny Stuff, FC Barcelona, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, For You With Love, Future Transfer, He's Actually Doing Medical Today So..., M/M, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Tumblr request
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2014-07-10
Packaged: 2018-02-08 07:21:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1931790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/facade/pseuds/facade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><strong><em><a href="http://www.redcottonatelier.tumblr.com/">redcottonatelier</a></em></strong> asked: <em> ... I absolutely love Alexis Sánchez and Neymar Jr. together and there is sooooo little works of them, so I came to ask you for some. I don't care the context; it can be them together in Barça, they against each other with the NTs (and the food bets) or they in the next season; Alexis on Arsenal and Ney still on Barcelona. I will highly appreciate it.</em></p><p>No, it was the way he saw the world, the way he made him see the world, his thoughts, the way he made him think. His <strike>soul</strike> sole. His way. That's what he'd miss the most.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Sole

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Red_C](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Red_C/gifts).



> I've never written anything without a Madridista in it so this is definitely a first for me. <3

It wasn’t those beautiful passes of his, those passes that always seemed to turn into an assist that would bring the white noise to its feet, nor was it the beautiful finishes at the end of his very own passes he knew he’d be witnessing should the ball fall to the feet of the other; no, he’d still see those passes paying tribute to South America, their South America, still see those solid finishes at the end of some irrelevant other’s pass. It wasn’t those celebrations with arms flailing all over the place, boots leaving the pitch, and glistening eyes taking in every detail of all that surrounded him as the volume of the white noise increased nor was it that ludicrous warm up dance he’d so often catch him doing; no, he’d still see those celebrations, still see him doing that god awful warm up dance before taking the pitch. It was those warm hugs he’d come to expect as they’d slowly become deafened by the joy of the culé, it was the feeling of those arms wrapping around him for any and all to see in front of the hazy backdrop of the blaugrana accompanied by the sounds of ‘Visca Barça’. It was the way he could see every crinkle that formed on the corners of his eyes as that smile – that smile that made the floodlights of the Camp Nou seem a little dimmer, the stars a little duller – encompassed half of his face, the way it always seemed to be there, either in front of him or felt against his neck. “I just,” he whispered against the other man as he took in the scent of him – a deep musk with hints of cinnamon (he’d miss that, too) – and sighed against his neck as he felt the burning sensation – warning of tears to come – returning to his eyes, “I just don’t understand why you have to go.”

Alexis slowly slid his arms down the waist of the taller but younger man and bit his bottom lip in thought, knowing good and well what he was about to say but trying to figure out the best way he could possibly say it. “I think I can contribute more to a club there, a club like Arsenal, than I ever could here,” he breathed out as he gently placed his hands on the hips of the other, “I think I can be an essential part of something there. I’d be, I’d be needed there.” His answer was as honest as a drunken man – he knew he’d never be a key man going forward for Barcelona, not with Neymar, Messi, Xavi, Iniesta, and the like ahead of him – but he could feel himself already starting to regret his words as he saw the face of the younger man falling before him.

“You’re a part of something essential here,” the young Brasilian began in reprimand as he pulled away from the Chilean and curled a finger under the chin of the number nine, tilting the mouth of the other to meet his in a slow kiss. It was the softness of his lips – like velvet – against his, it was the sound of his gentle moans of appreciation – more like small whimpers – escaping into his mouth, it was the taste of the other man – a combination of peppermint and winter fresh with traces of… chocolate? – against his tongue as he gently parted those full lips. He felt the wetness of his tears, the faint streaks of moisture sliding down his cheeks as he felt Alexis’ hand pressing firmly against his chest, and slowly broke the kiss. “You’re a part of something here,” Neymar repeated as the heat of his words danced on the Chilean’s lips, “you’re needed here. I, I need you here.”

The older man smiled softly but gently shook his head. He removed his hands from the hips of the younger man and pulled the hands of the thinner man into his, tracing the wrists of the Brasilian as he searched for his eyes. “This move, this isn’t about us, Ney,” he whispered as he found the soft brown orbs of the other forward, “I need you to know that.” He frowned as he lost Neymar’s eyes, as the other man started to look past him, and released one of the other man’s wrists to place a firm finger against the cheek of the twenty-two year old, forcing Neymar’s tear filled eyes back on him. “You do know that, don’t you?” He ran his finger further up those tear stained cheeks and wiped away a few of the still straying tears of the other man, hating himself for having brought them with his message but knowing that, somewhere in there, somewhere within the spirit of those eyes the Brasilian understood why he had to do this.

Neymar simply shrugged and shook his head as, for the fiftieth time within those fifteen minutes, he tried to understand. “I just, I just don’t understand how this isn’t about us,” he choked out as threw his head back in an attempt to be rid of the new wave of tears he felt stirring up from within him, “how can this not be about us?” He softly challenged the twenty-five year as he attempted but failed to regain his composure. He was falling apart and one day – a day coming much sooner than he had expected, one day Alexis wouldn’t be there to help him pull himself back together again. “I, I un, un, understand,” he tried as his words broke with his emotions, “I kn, know wh, why you ne, need to go but, but don’t you, don’t you da, dare say that this isn’t, isn’t about us.”

He told himself that he wouldn’t cry, that he didn’t deserve the release because this had been his doing, because he was the reason behind the tears on the face of the young Brasilian… but as he watched Neymar crumbling before him, collapsing to little more than salty water, snot, and jumbled syllables, he felt cracks forming within his own walls. He reached forward and pulled the thinner man into the safety of his arms, held him because he still could, and reached up to run his fingers soothingly through the hair of the other man. “It’s not like,” he barely choked out as he felt a clenching sensation around his heart and as he felt the air around him seemingly becoming thicker, becoming harder and harder for him to take in, “it’s not like this is the end for us, Ney. I’m still going to fly back here to see you when I can,” he promised as he felt the other forward calming beneath him. “Who knows, Arsenal might play Barcelona in the Champions League next season? We can have a little individual rematch of the World Cup round of sixteen on the pitch and a little replay of our post-match celebration… you know which one I’m talking about, the one after the home Clasico.” He could feel the other man starting to laugh and pulled Neymar ever so slightly out of his clutches to find those eyes again. “What?”

The Brasilian simply shook his head as he smiled up into the chocolate eyes of the soon-to-be Arsenal forward. “Nothing. I’ll just miss you.” It was the way he managed to make him smile regardless of how shitty he may have been feeling, regardless of how shitty the situation was. It was the way he seemed to manage to always make him remember the good times, the way he reminded him that this wasn’t goodbye, that this wasn’t the end of them – it was an ‘I’ll see you later’, a new chapter, nothing more and nothing less. It was the way he looked at him – as if every other being around them were blurs he couldn’t make sense of, as if he was the only thing that made sense to him – no, it was the way he spoke with him – as if his opinion was the only thing that mattered, as if he would cease to exist if he didn’t understand what he was trying to say or do – no, it was the way he held him – as if his sole purpose was to protect him, to keep him safe.  

“Why on earth would you miss someone like me,” Alexis teased as felt Neymar slowly walking forward, backing him to the sofa just behind where they stood; neither of them had been able to sit due to the intensity of Alexis’ message but Alexis immediately felt relieved of the weight – whether it was his own body weight or the weight of his transfer announcement, he was unsure – as he fell back onto the cushions of the sofa. “Besides,” he continued as he positioned himself to where he could hold the taller man in his arms, pressing his lips against the neck of the other man as Neymar sat across his lap just before he finished his thought, “I’m taking you to England with me. We’ll always be together.”

Neymar smiled and shook his head, feeling as if he already knew what corny thing Alexis would say after he asked “Yeah, how is that?” He watched as the other man smiled and pointed to his feet while assuring him that he would always be carrying him there. “In your feet? We’ll always be together in your feet?” The way he almost intentionally ruined corny, sweet moments. "Your nasty, sweaty feet. Perfect."

“What are you talking about, man?” Alexis yawned out absently as he looked down at his feet and over at Neymar’s, gently massaging the one closest to him. “That’s where the heart of every footballer is..." he hummed as he ran his thumb gently against the bottom of Neymar's foot, "that's why this is called your sole. This,” he sighed as he placed a hand over the thing beating within Neymar's chest, "this thing, this thing right here... is for peasants," he laughed as he saw Neymar start shaking his head at him in amusement. 

No, it was the way he saw the world, the way he made him see the world, his thoughts, the way he made him think. His ~~soul~~ sole. His way. That's what he'd miss the most. 

                                                                                                                  

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for referring to all of us as peasants.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Rash](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2753729) by [facade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/facade/pseuds/facade)




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